


Graunchy

by bonehandledknife (ladywinter), Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)



Series: The Mountains Are The Same [43]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Breeder Court, Gen, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 11:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6049300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladywinter/pseuds/bonehandledknife, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/Primarybufferpanel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Graunchy: A route (often off-width) requiring the use of unconventional and uncomfortable techniques.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"What was that?"</p><p>"Is everything okay?"</p><p>"Warboys trying to get in?"</p><p>Marienny hung the shotgun back on its hidden spot not far from the door, and Lizzybe put the heavy bar back over the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Graunchy

Treb was walking through the Citadel, on his way to… something or another, something that escaped his mind entirely as soon as he heard it. 

Drumming. 

He hadn't heard drumming in... how many days had it been since they'd rode out with Doof? It was hard to remember, so much had changed. Their big drums had been destroyed in the crash, and neither he, nor Timpani or Clef had felt confident that they were allowed to drum in the New Citadel, on their smaller drums. Not without Doof to say it was okay. Their songs too, that they’d belted out on the way back to the Citadel, fled them as soon as the familiar rocks towered over them.

Music belonged to the Immortan, and only very sometimes to practice. And if you took something that belonged to the Immortan, if he even  _ thought  _ you took something especially if you weren’t one of his full-life Imperators or one of his pale-skinned War boys, you were shredded quick. 

They weren't sure who it belonged to now. 

This Citadel was a new place and they were still feeling out their right to things, what was allowed and what wasn't, under these new Tribunes. It was hard not to feel a little resentful that their one path to music had been taken away. But they weren’t about to test the new order. They hadn't heard about any punishments yet, but that could be a bad sign. Sometimes you never heard about somebody again, because they weren't around to complain. 

Except now it sounded like somebody was testing, because he heard drumming, from several different drums. Plus some kind of string instrument being plucked, poorly tuned, the strings must be worn and he was just dying to see it, his feet followed the sound to its source without his input—

He came to a halt at the door of the Breeders Court. It was a massive wooden door, and he knew it used to be guarded, but now apparently there was a heavy bar on the inside, so the breeders could lock themselves in. Hoping against hope he gave the door a push, hoping it would not be barred now, that he would be allowed to enter and join in with the drumming, but no. It didn't budge. 

Inside the rhythm changed to a challenge and response between two drums, and he could hear the stamping of many feet joining them, his own feet making the response stamps without realising. He leaned against the door and tried to think of any way he could ask to join in. Perhaps ask the Tribunes? Or maybe that white-haired desert woman from the canyon, Gilly, maybe she could put in a word for him? 

He wasn't even aware that he'd started drumming the response call on the wood of the door. 

Until it suddenly opened and he was staring into the barrel of a shotgun. 

Inside was a sudden hush, many women facing Treb, their faces flushed from dancing. He looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of the instruments, he needed to know what they were using, what the string instrument was. It sounded chrome, and skillfully played though he could tell the strings were long past replacing. 

"Hey. Warboy," somebody said sharply, and the woman with the shotgun closed the door far enough that he couldn't see much but her and another woman. She was large with pup, and she was giving him a dark look. As he took in her appearance, she looked him over too, noticed the swirls and dots he and Timpani had started painting on themselves. 

"...maybe not a warboy. What are you doin', poundin' on our door? Breeder Court is closed. Gone. Ain't never opening again."

"I was just—" Treb faltered, because he hadn't meant to pound on the door. "Drumming. I wanted to— can I…?"

"You can't come in here," she said immediately. "This is our safe space, is what the Tribunes say."

"Okay," he agreed, because what was there to say to that? His stomach clenched a bit, sour and empty, and he thought,  _ Why must they hide it away? Why can’t it be shared? _

And then he saw their faces, alarmed and angry. Like they were afraid that the music might be taken away too. Or that they knew what it was like, having it taken.

"Ah. Maybe... some other time," he drummed his fingers on his thigh, hoping he wasn't saying entirely the wrong thing, "You could play somewhere I could join too? If the Tribunes… if they'll allow it?"

It must not be entirely the wrong thing, because she lowered the barrel of the shotgun, pointing it at the floor. Looked a bit surprised at his request. 

"You want to join us?"

He nodded eagerly. "Haven't been able to do much drumming lately, and you guys sounded real shine."

"I'll think about it," she conceded. "Not now though, you hear? No more pounding on our door."

"Can I listen here, though?"

“Just listen?” They looked at him warily.

“I'll sit over there,” he promised, pointing to the ledge opposite the door.

“I can watch him for ya’ll.” One of the desert women from the canyon said from inside. Vicks, Treb thought was her name. "Enough dancing for my knee." 

Wait, if she was here, and he knew she talked to the Tribunes, did that mean that maybe the music was allowed? He wasn't sure how to ask, but surely she would warn them if they would be punished for it. 

Treb struggled to sit still when the drumming started back up, his body wanted to _move_... but this was worth it. He hadn't heard music in _so_ long, it felt like. At least two tendays which was a horrible _forever_. And this was new, unfamiliar rhythms and that intriguing string instrument and the sounds of many voices and dancing feet. 

* * *

"What was that?"

"Is everything okay?"

"Warboys trying to get in?"

Marienny hung the shotgun back on its hidden spot not far from the door, and Lizzybe put the heavy bar back over the door.

The crowd, most of them still a little flushed with the vigorous dancing earlier, looked at her. Some of them were breeders worried things would be forced back to how they used to be, but there were also some from the Soundless, and - what had never happened before - they had brought the girls that had been apprenticed to them, a group of daughters. Theirs were the most concerned faces, their hands full of questions, flickering nervously, unwilling to be seen and ducking far from the door.

"Everything is okay," Marienny said soothingly. "He's a drummer, got a little… enthusiastic on hearing drumming. He'll listen from outside. He’ll not interrupt, he says."

“He better not interrupt!”

“This is ours, this is finally ours, and if he think he can—!”

“But he’s not,” Marienny soothed, understanding their distress. They’ve had to hide this music from Joe, who didn’t think it proper enough, appropriate enough, or refined. He'd punished them for it except when he’d bring one or two of them to the vault to instruct his pale wives, or have the Coma Doof steal the beats and melodies; distort the speed and the pace and make it something only of War. Acceptable only because a man was playing it for the Immortan’s gain. “The war drummer is outside now, promised not to interrupt. Don’t let him stop the party.”

There was some uncertain murmuring, but Marienny nodded to Naaka, who was playing the Quanun board. 

“Don’t let Joe _win_ ,” she looked at them all, insistent, “He’s dead. And we will _celebrate_.”

Naaka started a new melody, and the drums joined in, and soon the man outside their door was forgotten. 

  


When the sunlight ran low, feet sore but elated, they broke up to head to the mess. It took some encouragement for the daughters to be willing to come with them, using the door and the hallways. Most of them hid deep in their robes. When they opened the door they found that drummer war boy still out there, sitting with head tilted and his fingers drumming on his knees in some rhythm. Marienny wondered if they were going to be hearing their own rhythms back on the wardrums, the next time they rode out. 

Vicks looked on, amused, still sitting near the war boy. And when she caught sight of them hanging nervously around the door, she nodded a little to her other side. Where in the shadows sat several others, some pups and a couple children from the Citizens from Below.

Listening with curious faces.

"Thank you for looking out for us," Marienny said to Vicks. 

The Vuvalini nodded easily and rose to her feet.

"Are you coming to the mess with us?"

Vicks glanced around her and seemed to give the boys a nod, but fell in at Marienny’s side.

As they walked along slowly behind the group of women, Vicks smiled. 

"Treb said you might do one of these in some place where he could join?"

“What, stealing our songs?”

Vicks shook her head, “Mentioned accompaniment, actually. Helping out the beat. Like they used to do for Doof.” 

“Changing it up any?”

“Seemed to find it all plenty ‘shine’ on it’s own, be surprised if he’d thought of it.” The Vuvalini shrugged.

Marienny thought back to the way he'd been listening, his whole body straining into the rhythm. Thought about how, despite some worries, the war boy apparently did just sit on his hands, Vicks looking easy about the shoulders and maybe even the slightest bit bored. Thought about how everyone looked so curious and receptive. 

Nobody had ever wanted anything from the breeders but breedin', before. If people wanted to join in this,  _ their  _ music,  _ their  _ dancing and rituals, thought it was worth listening to even if they had to sit outside, maybe sharing it with more people would be nice. The more people know of a thing, the less chance it might be lost, and that is as true of song and dance as it was of stories. 

Marienny glanced at the others and maybe some would need some convincing but...

"Yes, I think we will.”

Ahead of them, two of the Soundless-apprenticed girls chatted excitedly about the celebration. Marienny thought that maybe especially for them, brought up so sheltered and wary, it wouldn't be a bad thing to have music where others could join. They all had to move forward, as uneasy as it might feel. 

* * *

 

"Furiosa, I need your help," Janey said firmly, stopping the other woman from leaving after council. She'd maybe sounded a little more serious than intended, because Furiosa straightened and went into something Janey thought looked very much like battle readiness. 

“Where—”

"No, it's nothing serious—” Janey waved her down, “at least I hope not. Will you come to my quarters?"

Furiosa followed her without a word, the chains on her sigil belt chiming softly. Janey and her sisters shared a good sized room that had been picked for its strategic defensive position. Originally the girls, now Tribunes, bunked in with them. But once they had come into their own, the younger women had chosen separate rooms, further along the hall. Now it was mostly just a comfort to have a space with each other, to be able to guard each other's backs. They'd each found ways to create a little private space in their own corner, privacy still an unsought-for luxury after so many years of sharing the smallest bit of shelter. 

Janey led Furiosa to her corner and ducked through the ragged, patched curtain. She indicated the pile of items next to her bed.  It was… well, she wasn't sure, really. Odds and ends? belts mainly, and some cans of chrome and a blackened scarf. There was a tin of black grease, and a small tin of some kind of fine silvery dust. 

"It started during the scouting tour. I thought it was salvage at first."

"They're giving you this stuff?"

Janey bent down to pick up most of the pile and dump it on her bed. 

"I thought it'd pass when we got back, but I can't walk around the Citadel without one of them hovering nearby, 'just in case I need something'. "

Furiosa found the belt with the bits of chain and cloth hanging from it, held it up, and laughed softly. 

"Well, they're obviously hoping you'll be Imperator."

"Why? Why would they care about me getting a title?"

"It's probably less about you and more about their own status. An Imperator's crew gets chrome jobs—" she paused a moment as if realising her own choice or words, then shrugged and continued, "there's status connected to it, extra rations before and after missions. They want to be useful, to have a purpose, and there is a kind of security in being a crew, not having to wait around hoping to be given a task. A lot of your guys have never been in the position to be on a crew before, and they really want to be."

Janey nodded. "I got that impression. But they can't make me an Imperator, that's not up to them."

"But they can try to make you at least  _ look  _ right," Furiosa grinned. "So that the other Warboys understand how things are now, even if it isn't official."

Janey held the ornamented belt and sighed. 

"We could make it official easily enough," Furiosa said. 

"If I wanted to follow Joe's toxic system."

They were both quiet for a moment, and Janey realised Furiosa might take it as something said about her. "I mean... I know you and Ace aren't…   I just wish Warboys could feel secure in their place in the Citadel without having to prop me up?"

“What place do you imagine them to have?” Furiosa asked.

“Well this place certainly needs guarding and scouting.”

“And you would be willing to lead them.” 

“Of course but—” Janey caught her Look, “That doesn’t make me—”

"Do you plan to just pick new guys every time you need a crew?"

"That's what I'm used to, you know. With the Vuvalini, back when we had more than six, we'd take the people most suited to the task who were willing and able at the time. It was almost never the same group."

“I remember a little, but wasn’t sure,” Furiosa said quietly. She cleared her throat and continued, "Would you do that here?"

"Well, I do know some of them quite well now, and not so much the rest. So I guess I'd probably use mostly the same. Excepting the guys that were picked for your new crew.” She sighed, looking at the belt. “I guess it’s something familiar to them and it doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“Does it really bother you though?”

Janey thought for a moment. “Might we switch out some smaller units sometimes, between crews? Would promote unity, discourage cliques.”

“Some groups just don’t work well together,” Furiosa pointed out.

“They should all still be willing to work together, learn each other’s quirks,” Janey’s mouth twisted, “And would be harder also for dissenters to work up a good plan if crew gets shuffled around.”

“Always have a gun ready?” Furiosa asked, but already half nodding. 

“Had one ready even as they’d lifted us up.” Janey laughed and nudged Furiosa, “Don’t tell me you don’t squirrel guns or shanks around you wherever you are. I’ve seen them.”

“You might have,” Furiosa allowed, smile sneaking around her mouth. “I’ll talk to Ace and the Tribunes, see what they think as well, but I think we can switch them out.”

“Keep them from being bored doing either patrol or sentry. Fresh eyes.”

"Right. Do you need me to have Kompass or Austeyr talk to the guys that fancy themselves your crew? Tell them off?"

Janey hesitated. 

"If it's really bothering you we can try to redirect them," Furiosa offered. 

"Let me think about… about the Imperator thing."

* * *

 

Max was trying to remember why he'd thought that coming to Furiosa's quarters would be restful. He'd assumed only Ace would be around in the daytime, only four days since his surgery, and maybe Max'd slept so poorly the night before that a couple of hours in the quiet presence of the other man sounded like something that might work better. Not to mention that the mattress was comfortable, and there was plenty of space on the far side from Ace. 

Except the others were around too, for some reason.

The small sounds jolted him awake and Max found himself glad for it, blinking up at the ceiling, head tilted back, trying to slow his heart. Images from the dream faded quick, ungraspable, but leaving him with a sick feeling in his stomach, sour fear and twitchy fingers and a desperate need to  _ run _ . 

Max swallowed the urge down.

"Don't you guys have work to do?" Max asked, pretending a yawn as if they'd disturbed his rest instead of released him from his dream. 

"What, you want us to  _ go  _ or something?" Austeyr asked wide-eyed. He came to sit next to Max as if to show that that probably wasn't happening. 

Max huffed. 

"The man is trying to sleep," Ace said from his place on the other side of the mattress, not looking up from where he was fiddling with one of Furiosa's new arms. Max wondered what he'd noticed of his dreaming. "Sometimes he gets dayfevers."

“Eh?” Kompass asked, sliding his eyes over to Ace. 

They exchanged a look, and Ace said, “Like some get with nightfevers, but not.”

“Rough,” Kompass grimaced and went over to Max, plopping down across from him.

Max gave the Imperator a look of mock betrayal. It wasn't like he'd expected Ace  _ not  _ to speak of what they'd discussed in the infirmary though. It just squirmed his stomach to hear it, somewhat.

"Are they bad?" Austeyr asked with interest. "Do you need us to wake you?"

Max was still trying to decide how to answer that when Austeyr began patting his face. “This is how we wake crew when they're dreaming, you know, works right well, except, hmm, maybe we shouldn't do this with feral crew?"

Max grumbled, trying to turn away, but in truth not minding all that much. 

“You gonna bite off my finger?” Austeyr asked dramatically, "Is this getting you angry? Would I like you when you’re angry?”

There was a small and squeaky sound that Max tracked over to… Kompass, apparently trying to stifle a laugh. It was so absurd a noise that it was easy to fall into Austeyr’s joking around.

“ Is your crazy feral rage increasing? Are you mad yet?” The pats to his face increased, “Do you wanna kill me now? How about  _ now _ ?”

And Max was almost snickering with it but then suddenly the hand went over his face differently and Max flashed to a memory of being suffocated under hands, grabbing at his face and covering his nose, his mouth, and he  _ jolted _ , badly, backwards in Ace's direction.

Austeyr stared, slowly lowering his hand. 

Max stared back, and breathed, and tried to remember where he was. Awake, for one. And safe. 

Ace hummed a question at him.

_ Safe _ , Max thought.

“What.” Austeyr swallowed, darted his eyes over at Kompass, and then looked at Max again, “What do you want me to do?”

He shrugged. 

They kept staring at him in question.

“ ‘S nothing,” Max muttered towards the side.

“That didn’t look like nothing,” Austeyr shoved at his shoulder again playfully, with his own. "Can I try again, see if it'll be easier? Figure out if it’s a specific thing or like something we need to just avoid?"

“We’ve had crew’ve been weird about this or that,” Kompass shrugged. “Happens.”

Max looked back, confused.

“Okay....” Austeyr dragged the word out, “I’mma have to guess. Is it? Stop me, then, if—” And Austeyr scooted forward again, until he was sitting next to Max, and bumped their shoulders together. “It’s the face then? Don’t cover your face?”

Max grunted at him and rolled his eyes.

Which only prompted the war boy to start palming his face again, in earnest, ridiculous holds like he was feeling for head lumps or lice or something.

“Is it this?” Austeyr asked, keeping up a stream of babble, “Or this? How about—”

And then his palm was cupping Max’s face, partially covering his eye and jaw, and he flinched a little. Tried to keep himself steady because this shouldn’t matter. It  _ shouldn’t _ .

“Hey,” Kompass protested, and reached forward as if to grab Austeyr’s wrist away from him. "Okay?"

Max waved him off, breathing deep, trying to still himself. 

Kompass draped his hand over Max’s head like a hat instead, and that did it. _It was too ridiculous._ And too different from anything like his dreams. Max snorted, tension breaking, so thoroughly that he’d didn’t even react when Rachet plopped on his other side with some refilled canteens he’d brought back from the Imperators’ pipes. 

“Is this a thing now?” Rachet asked, and planted a hand across Max’s opposite cheek. Looked at them all curiously. “Why are we doing this?”

“Ferals like things on their faces?” Kompass shrugged, not moving his hand. 

Max snorted at him only that ended up with a finger up his nose, and then he tried shaking them off like water but they kept coming back. And he was carefully wrestling bodies away from him, trying to avoid jostling Ace, only to get dogpiled to within an inch of his life, and somewhere in all that he realized that he was having  _ fun— _

They all looked up when the door opened.

Furiosa was looking down at them.

Blinked slowly.

"...why are you sitting on Max?"

"He's comfy," Rachet declared sincerely. 

Max snorted laughter and shoved him off, or tried to. Rachet laughed and clung on.

"Comfortable, is he?" Furiosa grinned, and sat down to lean against Max's side. He didn’t exactly freeze but became more  _ aware _ . Self-conscious. Worried about moving wrong, even though a moment ago he'd wrestled Austeyr away with care for his still-healing side. 

Everyone sensed it, looking at each other, looking at Max. 

(he looked at her, torn, wanting to invite her but not knowing how. Not knowing how to get past his—

not knowing how to get  _ past _ . He knew that everything he said would come out wrong. He knew that she should have better. Deserved better. He knew that this was important and that he ruined things and that he needed to say something but with every moment the words that he needed to say failed to arrive

and then the moment passed, and became awkward)

Furiosa’s grin slowly slid away.

The room was subdued for the rest of the night.


End file.
